In January 2014 I was set a task; to bring the game of Cricket to the land of the Samurai. To achieve this, I must learn the complexities of these masterful warriors, then convince them to trade their swords for bats.

Friday, 18 April 2014

London Marathon - Failure & Perspective

“To call
running ‘fun’ would be a misuse of the word. Running can be ‘enjoyable’. Running
can be ‘rejuvenating.’ But in a pure sense of the word, running is not fun.” Dean Karnazares –
Ultramarathon Man.

I had been looking forward to writing this post. As
soon as I set the blog up I was thinking about my triumphant piece
post-marathon, where I would feign humility about what I had achieved and wait
for the hearty congratulations to roll in. Instead I am writing something quite
different.

I did not complete the London Marathon last Sunday.
I fell short, quite literally, as my temperature reached 41.5 degrees and I
collapsed in a dirty, bloody heap on the side of the road. I was carted off,
probably on a stretcher, to the St Johns Ambulance medical team based at Poplar.
I don’t recall the finer details except that my legs very suddenly turned to lead;
like a dream when you’re trying to sprint but can’t move. The grazes on my knees
tell me I crumpled rather than keeled over.

This is not because I ran as a Womble – the pictures
below are of me borrowing the costume from my cousin, who I bumped into before the start of the
race.

I have checked my GPS and can see that I hit the
deck on Ming (the
Merciless) Street, which is a fraction short of 21-miles, and that I had
been running for almost exactly three hours at that point.

When I came to I couldn’t move and was covered with
bags of ice. I immediately tried to sit up and nothing happened. It took at
least half an hour before I could move my arms and legs, but it was 90 minutes
before the medical team pulled me up into a sitting position and later hauled
me upright and over to an ambulance. Up until then I had spent the entire time
thinking I was paralysed. I know now that fear was unfounded, the severe pain in
my back and neck should have told me that, but rational thoughts don’t really
kick in at such times.

What I have since discovered was that the more
realistic danger was in fact death. A bit melodramatic I know, but had the
medics not found me quickly I would have been in serious trouble. I was diagnosed
with severe hyperthermia (the opposite of hypothermia
– which is extreme cold). The definition of the condition reads thus:

“An elevated
body temperature due to failed thermoregulation that occurs when a body
produces or absorbs more heat than it dissipates. Extreme temperature elevation
then becomes a medical emergency requiring immediate treatment to prevent
disability or death.

“Hyperthermia
is defined as a temperature greater than 38.3 °C. it requires an elevation
from the temperature that would otherwise be expected. Such elevations range
from mild to extreme; body temperatures above 40 °C can be life threatening.”

As mentioned, I was at 41.5 °C. What freaks me out
the most is that I did a training run of almost this exact distance and time.
Had the same thing happened out here in Sano four weeks ago, then I would not
be sat here now, of that I am certain.

When my brother and sister arrived they were a
trifle horrified when I said that we still needed to get to the pub. I had
people to meet and already felt like I had let them down by not finishing, and
had no intention of making that worse by not showing up to my own party. The
fact I was shaking, my face ash-white and my lips blue were their chief concerns,
not to mention that I didn’t notice there was a bag of ice still down my pants…but
we went anyway.

So how do I feel about it six days later?
Devastated, obviously, but I also have a sense of perspective given to me by
the sheer terror I was in for those 90 minutes. I’ve never known anything like
that, and never want to again.

Last year my brother did the race, got injured just
a couple of miles in and dragged himself around the entire course in more than
seven hours. Like me in Berlin
five years ago, his first marathon was all about finishing and I said to
him at the time that, odd as it may sound, a marathon is not just about race
day. It is about the six months before, the early starts and the sacrificed
weekends. I had been proud of him for those efforts, so I have been trying to
tell myself the same thing.

This was my second marathon however. For me it was
not all about just crossing the finish line. I had no intention of walking, as
I had in Berlin.
I walked greater distances than 26-miles several times during my Thames Walk. I wanted to RUN a marathon,
and so I went to London
with a target set, a desire and belief that I could complete 26.2 miles in less than four
hours. A tough target sure, but I genuinely believed I could do it.
Astonishingly, I still do as I was tracking for 3:55 when I went down and felt
absolutely fine right up until the seconds before I lost consciousness.

I don’t believe I did much wrong. I drank plenty, I
ran in the shade when I could and through the showers when I saw them. What I
would do differently is not wear a hat and ignore the pre-race paperwork which
tells you not to waste water by pouring it over your head; perhaps the single
worst piece of advice imaginable on a hot day. I have every intention of
returning next year.

Ultimately I am taken back to a quote that I have
used again and again over the years, including in my own book, and one that
Dean Karnazes uses in Ultramarathon Man after his own failure (he had only
managed 72 miles of a 100-mile race):

“The
credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by
dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short
again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but
who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the
great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in
the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at
least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those
cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I have been lucky these last few years. I have
known the triumph of high achievement with the Cricket on Everest Expedition,
and to a lesser extent my Thames Walk. Failure can be relative. I have at least
failed in an attempt to push myself to my limit. My pride is definitely
wounded, but it will recover I’m sure.

To everyone who was out on the day, I thank you
sincerely. To those I managed to see while I was over, it was great to catch up
and I am sorry there was not more time. I managed to miss my flight back on
Tuesday morning so had a bonus day and caught up with a few others which was
brilliant. To those I did not see, I missed you all and thank you to those who sent messages
of support.